


Truth Crashed To Earth (Will Rise Again)

by andrea_deer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Prompt Fill, bit of blood, not permament death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrea_deer/pseuds/andrea_deer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam could move with a thought and he could kill demons with a snap of his fingers. Instead he drove a Dodge and avoided demons at all costs. They were too easy. And their blood smelled too familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth Crashed To Earth (Will Rise Again)

**Author's Note:**

> **Written For:** wolfish_willow’s prompt in fic exchange.  
>  **Spoilers/Timeline:** Spoilers up to the final of season 5. In theory I’m freely using all episodes, but in practice the plot sort of balances on the edge of AU.  
>  **Word Count:** 7.930  
>  **Beta:** princess_aleera (who is awesome ~~stalker~~ )
> 
>  **A/N:** This fic was written for Sam/Gabriel fic exchange. I hope, dear that you will like it and I’d like to just stall for few more lines to leave some excuses. First of all, I rarely write for prompts in form of lyrics, which is why I stacked on your other prompts for a long time, but then nothing came out of it for which I’m sorry. The part from the lyrics to “This Time” finally inspired the fic for which I’m really glad, ‘cause I was starting to get worried, lol. I’m not sure how well I’ve done, I’m always even less confident when it comes to lyrics inspired fics, but I’ve tried to do my best and include thing you mentioned you liked and avoid the dislikes. Somehow it made me create some weird angsty piece with far too few dialogues for my tastes. *shrugs* It has a happy ending and I even attempted some porn, so I hope it will work for you.  (And sorry for babbling.)

**|\||\||\|**

"You break me, and as I bleed  
You just say you're sorry  
You call this love?  
But this time your lies  
Are not enough  
This time..." - This Time by Celine Dion

 **|\||\||\|**

Sam stole himself a ’73 Dodge Charger Rallye Edition. It was by no means a practical car. It burned too much gasoline, it was easily spotted, and keeping it in a good shape was not only expensive, but also took a lot of hard work. And it had only a cassette player. Sam took good care of this car, bringing it up to its best with small repairs the previous owner obviously didn’t bother with or had no money for. There were quite a lot of things to fix and so far they kept Sam from installing an iPod jack, but he was working his way towards it.

Somehow, by united work of coincidence and bad choices, Sam ended up with a classic car that reminded him of home more than anything else. Small part of Sam’s mind was felt pride. It was part of him still firmly set in his young age and right in the middle of his adoration for his hero of the big brother. And Dean? Dean would love this car. He would’ve said that Sam had finally gotten some taste, probably rubbed off of him or something. The older, more cynical and realistic Sam knew that I didn’t matter what car he drove. On the first sight of him, Dean wouldn’t be shouting his name, but “ _Christo!_ ”. And perhaps he’d get a proud pat on the shoulder or even a hug for a black, classic beauty he was riding, but for his demonic black eyes he’d get Ruby’s knife to the heart. No hard feelings, just a common, hunter’s sense.

 **|\||\||\|**

Sometimes Sam liked to push the limits. He always did, although he never fully realized it. There was just something about living through inner conversations with the Devil in your head that tended to leave you a bit overly self-analyzing. Most of the times it was a pain in the ass and only made Sam reconsider his status of the only Winchester that was not scared to talk about his feelings. He was leaning towards the theory that he had it wrong all along. Sometimes, though, he actually noticed something useful, something that could work for him or at least warn him. For one it at least cleared out why he was hunting the way he was.

He always pushed his limits with Dad, and often with Dean and others too. He pushed his limits with himself more often than not. He needed to be the best student and the harder it was for him to study, the better grades he aimed for. He needed to be as 'best' at hunting as he could, even though he never wanted to hunt. But it tasted so much sweeter to say he didn't want to, when he knew he easily _could_ be doing that. He could be the best. He chose studying at Stanford instead and he wanted to major in Law, because he aimed for something that not only was hard, but was also known as damned hard. Otherwise it just wouldn’t be for him. He remembered considering Medicine for a brief moment of his life, but something pushed him away from it. Later he knew what it was: doctors were always useful for hunters. Procurators, not so much.

Later on, to push his limits, Sam decided to save the world. He doomed it in the process, but 'best laid plans' and all that. He figured it didn’t matter much at this point, and after all he did save the world, didn’t he? From the Devil he freed, but still. Sam tried very hard not to get into that paranoid spiral of thoughts that led him to the question: had he subconsciously known he was starting the Apocalypse, and then done it anyway just to be the one to save them all? He knew it was all bullshit, but self-analyzing rarely brought sane and happy thoughts.

“Well, well, look what crawled out of the pit,” the creature before Sam mocked. “Ain’t it a true, Prince Charming of the Damned, that came to kill a little ol’ me. I feel _so_ special now!”

Sam smiled humorlessly, a dry bend of his mouth that held no meaning. The monster in a shape of a man darted its eyes around, obviously scared underneath the very thin layer of false bravado.

“Don’t look,” Sam advised and suddenly stood right before his opponent. His hand moved with a strength and speed, landing one precise hit with the machete. “No one else left, but us.”

Sam came back from the pit changed and it gave him the advantage. He was quicker, he saw better and he was much stronger. He’d be an idiot if he didn’t use it while hunting, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t push his limits once again. He could move with a thought and he could kill demons with a snap of his fingers. Instead he drove a Dodge and avoided demons at all costs. They were too easy.  
And their blood smelled too familiar.

 **|\||\||\|**

Sometimes Sam dreamed somebody was petting his hair. Sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard and watching over him. Running fingers through Sam’s hair, soothing him and taking the bad dreams away. It only happened when Sam was on the edge of sleeping. Already falling into the dreamland, but still somehow aware of his surroundings; his mind’s creations blended with reality. He knew that this delicate touch was part of the dream and he welcomed it, while slowly falling asleep.

He’d never turned around to check who was petting him like this. Partly, because he knew he wouldn’t see anyone. Mostly, because even if his mind would conjure someone in this place, he didn't really care who it was. His bets would be on Jess if he’d bother to place any, but his fears whispered of Lucifer. Sam usually fell asleep thinking of Ruby. And how she used to run hands through his hair sometimes when they kissed. Or when he sucked on the blood running from the cut on her arm.

 

 **|\||\||\|**

 

He was always prepared for the hunt. The room he was staying in, whether it is a motel or an abandoned house he'd been squatting in, was covered with careful notes, pictures and maps concerning the current house. When he didn’t need to do that, when upon hearing the first witness he knew what was going on, he felt unsatisfied. Usually he still put up some notes and the basic info. He wanted to be sure he wasn’t missing anything; he wanted to stay professional. Monsters usually attack without much of a plan or theoretical background, that’s more of a human’s forte. Sam might not be a human anymore, but sometimes he liked to fool himself.

The barn was warded with anti-human seals. It came as quite a surprise to Sam that they even existed, but he was prepared. He saw them, painfully copied every sign he spied on the wooden walls of the barn and slowly translated every one of them. They guarded the inside from anyone who had his own human soul and his own, beating heart. It seemed to be some sort of a family secret for the vampires that lived there. Sam liked hunting vampires. They were human enough to actually give him some sort of a challenge, something to think about, and still monsters enough he had no guilt over killing them as long as he knew they were also killers. Besides, he felt as if he was setting right one of the truths he heard as a child. _Vampires don’t exist._ Well, they still did, but Sam was working hard on making them extinct.

The door to the barn was wide open, as the creatures living there knew that very few people would be stupid enough to go in there, and the wards would keep those few insane ones away. Sam smirked to himself, and seizing the machete in his hand moved the last step into the barn. And smacked right into the invisible wall.

He blinked, surprised, and then moved his hand, watching with shock as his palm rested flat on the invisible wards he could not pass. He huffed a small, surprised laugh, before he realized it might not be the smartest thing to just stand here, when he obviously lost his advantage and the element of surprise.

One of the vampires stirred and looked right at Sam, its eyes widening in shock, mouth opening to scream and wake the others. Sam smiled at it quickly and with a thought disappeared away from the danger. When he landed steadily in his hotel room, as always feeling more as if he’d shifted the reality around himself and not really moved, he started laughing, the surprised joy bubbling inside him. _He was still human._

 **|\||\||\|**

“Welcome back,” Lucifer said cheerfully, when Sam opened his eyes and found himself in the black, empty space again. “As much as it’s nice to see you, I really hate what you’re doing with the interior of this place. You know we can make it look like whatever we want, when we actually concentrate a bit. But then you come in with your human soul unable to fully comprehend it and it’s back to black and dull. Absolutely boring.”

Sam stared at him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Michael wandering off, either to stop himself from attacking his brother or to find a wall he could hit his head against in a silent protest to the world that made him suffer with Lucifer forever.

“Wow,” Sam finally said. “You sure talk more and more every time I see your ugly mug.”

He was not exactly sure when he started sounding more and more like Dean in his conversations with Lucifer, but he was pretty sure it was around the same time he noticed how much it irritated the fallen angel. If Sam would try to hold on to his righteous anger, sure statements and slowly boiling rage, Lucifer would only smile and tell him how much they’re alike. But when Sam started talking back, smart-assing and not taking him seriously at all like a true Winchester? Lucifer was one step from jumping and wailing arms and crying in yet another temper tantrum.

“Perhaps then, you shouldn’t disappear for such long times then, hm?” Lucifer answered, obviously trying to ignore Sam’s attitude. “What did you dream about this time, Sam? Finding your brother? Hunting? Going back to little, sweet Jessica?”

“I wasn’t dreaming,” Sam answered slowly, patient from the repeated - like a broken record - conversation. “I'm dreaming now.”

Lucifer smiled indulgently.

“Of course you are.”

Sam closed his eyes and prayed he’d woke up finally. Surprisingly enough, he did.  
He opened his eyes groggily, more like if he was waking up from the long sleep on the lazy late morning and not from the nightmare. His eyes were heavy and he closed them again with a sigh, hoping to not repeat this particular dream any time soon.  
The feeling of someone petting his hair was back and Sam slid into a peaceful dream about his eighth birthday. When he woke up few hours later, he could still feel his father’s hug, hear Dean’s laughter and taste the rich chocolate from his birthday cake. He smiled into the pillow deciding to not get up just yet, enjoying the warmth of his covers and the relaxed feeling of his muscles. He felt safe.

 **|\||\||\|**

Every hunter either is born with some gut sense that tells him, when something is just not right, even if he yet can’t quite say what exactly, or he gets this ability after some time at this line of work. If he doesn’t, he gets killed. Sam had it for a long time. So did his father and brother, and every other hunter Sam worked with long enough to find out. This was somewhat reassuring, because Sam had lots of different skills and talents and he was glad that at least some of them could be explained as ‘the hunter thing’ or ‘the Winchester thing’ and not always ‘the abomination, the demon blood, the Lucifer’s vessel thing’.

When he researched the ritual there was this feeling of uneasiness again. The spell was quite complex, but nothing really compared to things Sam was used to be doing. There was just something about even the most complicated rituals to fight ghost[ghosts] that paled in comparison to trapping Lucifer back in hell after drinking gallons of demon’s blood to get possessed by him.

The case still caught his interest though. Probably not as much as it’d once do, but he wasn’t complaining. This feeling of a need to help people and solve the case so randomly came to him that he welcomed it gratefully and gave his best to the case, once again trying not to treat this just as a challenge, but more like a mission he was honored to do. Being the good guy, the savior, felt good. Better every time, because with every passing day, Sam deserved the title less.

The haunted house Sam was now investigating had caught yet another victim lately, a middle-aged man who got lost in the woods and, looking for shelter in an abandoned hut, had found a bunch of angry spirits instead. The pattern was hard to find since the victims were seldom and spread out over the years, but once you knew what you were looking for it was doable, and within days Sam unraveled the mystery of the abandoned house. The bunch of ghosts were quite dangerous to handle, especially considering the bodies buried in the field surrounding the house and some of the bones and marks of blood still in the cellar. Before Sam would manage to dig out one of the bodies, salt and burn it, the other ghosts would rip him apart, special demonic powers not withstanding. But those were the ghosts of the victims and they usually calmed down after getting the vindication they craved. Sam researched the previous owner of the place, not too surprised when he discovered he was a middle-aged man as all the ghosts’ victims had been.

His name was John Kostnick and he apparently owned the house for over twenty-five years, but nobody ever saw him coming there or doing anything to it. The local people somehow assumed the building still belonged to him and they were too spooked out by it to actually visit it or something. As it was the case, mister Kostnick had died over eight years ago of a heart attack in the a city fifteen miles away, where he'd lived with his wife and children, working in a local library.

Eventually Sam decided that if ghosts wanted the confrontation, that’s what they should get. He was sort of hoping they would win, and didn’t really have a reason to doubt them. Fair enough, they were all young girls, but there were at least twelve of them and there was still hope it somehow worked like in the _Ghost_ and the ones that spent more time as ghosts just learned better how to use theirs powers. They had a fair chance on beating the ghost of the man that killed them.

Finding the right ritual to not only drag Kostnick’s ghost back from wherever it was ( hopefully deepest pit of hell) but to actually make it appear in the right place and at the same time summoning the girls to him, was somehow easier than Sam expected. And that was the first thing that made him frown and reconsider the whole idea. He wasted the time gained by quick finding of the spell to translate every little bit of it, cross-referencing every symbol he was supposed to draw on the floor, putting extra care into the ones he was supposed to draw with his own blood. Every book and database he found told him in no unclear terms, that this was the right ritual, and eventually Sam went with it. His mind fighting with his gut’s feeling, and as he went with the reasonable choice, trusting in what he read and learned, the bad feeling still seemed to be crawling down his spine and making him tense and prepared to run. He tried to console himself with thinking that the weird feeling was partly due to the blood loss, as he finished drawing the last symbol.

He stood in the middle of a circle, on the floor covered with symbols and words in at least four different dead languages. Five small sigils around Sam glimmered darker than the red paint on the others, the blood still fresh in some places. The pale moonlight fell through the window and the candles standing in the blood sigils suddenly went out. And nothing else happened.

Sam cursed. The girl giggled, appearing right behind him and he swiveled around to shoot a round of salt right through her chest, before disappearing with a thought, still breathing hard.

“Son of a motherfucking bitch!” Sam summed up colorfully and an amused snort answered him from his bed.

“My sentiments exactly!,” Gabriel drawled, eating on a chocolate candy-bar as if he didn’t just came back from the dead to annoy an already pissed off Sam. “I doubted it’d be so easy, but a guy can hope, can’t he?”

Sam eyes shifted black the moment they fell on the archangel and when Gabriel finally met his gaze, he blinked as if surprised. Then he whistled low.

“You don’t take things halfway, Sambo, do you?”

The hunter looked away, feeling surprised at his own embarrassment. From the moment he crawled out of hell, he knew he’d never be able to face Dean, not only because he didn’t wish to ruin his brother’s chance at normalcy, or even because he was scared Dean would kill him without a thought, but because he knew this time he had fucked up too badly. He barely faced himself in the mirror, facing Dean would be ten hundred times more painful. He hadn't thought that he’d even be embarrassed before someone like Gabriel, though.  
He blinked, trying to will his eyes to look human, but when he opened them again it wasn’t Gabriel that looked at him, and he wasn’t in the room of the house in which he was squatting either.

“Hello, Sam,” Lucifer smiled, looking quite pleased and Sam couldn’t help the thought that he must be really bored here.

Sam tried not to dwell on why his subconscious decided to make Lucifer bored. Perhaps it was the worst kind of punishment it could come up with for this overactive, childish monster. Or perhaps because the idea of a bored Satan scared the crap out of Sam.

 **|\||\||\|**

“Sam, you have to understand… it just gets so lonely without you. Poor Adam gone,” Lucifer shot a glance at the body that was somehow always lying in the dark space with the archangels, when Sam visited this particular dream. Sam very hard tried not to ever look at it. “I’m pretty much stuck with Michael, who believes this is not happening, because it was not in the plan and you, who believe I’m only a dream. You have to admit, you’re not the best conversationalists I could’ve hoped for.”

“I am barely dreaming… I’m not sure why I’m dreaming at this moment, because I haven’t fallen asleep, but…”

“Ah!” the fallen angel caught his slip and held on to it tightly, his eyes glinting with dark humor as he smirked. “We’re getting somewhere. Tell me Sam, how can you dream… when you’re not asleep?”

Sam glared right back into Satan’s laughing eyes. Perhaps he was not omniscient and the tricks could be played on him and on his mind, but it didn’t make him any less pig-headed stubborn than he always was.

“Maybe I fainted? Maybe I just don’t remember going to sleep, because my mind isn't exactly working on its fullest possibilities, because _I am asleep_! How can I know? Maybe your stupid brother knocked me out or something, perhaps it’s all his one big joke.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows with nonchalance that didn’t fool anyone. Once again Sam picked up on his curiosity.

“My brother?” The devil frowned. “You mean Castiel?”

Sam snorted, but then looked away.

“Yeah, fine, sure.”

Lucifer growled displeased, obviously even more irritated with Sam ignoring his questions and refusing to talk to him than with Sam actually acting inappropriate and stubborn. He stared pointedly at Sam and finally the hunter met his gaze and then raised his eyebrows; obviously unimpressed.

“You’re aware you can’t read my mind here?”

“Unfortunately,” the fallen angel replied tersely, “I am.”

 **|\||\||\|**

When Sam woke up his head was hurting and there was a weird sound coming from somewhere across the room. He finally managed to pry his eyes open, more from curiosity than actual craving to fully wake up. His body felt tired and sore, and it took him a moment to concentrate his gaze on the archangel propped on the table and munching on some M&M’s, obviously trying to pass the time until Sam would be able to talk to him again. The hunter blinked in confusion. He still didn’t remember falling asleep.

“You’re finally back,” Gabriel announced happily when he met Sam’s open eyes.

“You’re dead.”

The archangel snorted at this snapped out answer.

“So are you. Ain’t it a lucky coincidence?” Gabriel smirked, gracefully hopping of the table to start walking around the room.

He smiled and gestured with the bag of candy, the familiarity of his small posture, traditional mocking face expression and twinkle in his eyes made Sam suddenly realize with painful clarity how much he missed seeing familiar faces. Not a Dean through a window at the first night Sam crawled out of the trap, not the Lucifer bored out of his mind that he met in his dreams, but an actual familiar face of a person he knew and who would talk to him in real world. He felt out of breath and sort of wanted to just walk up to Gabriel and hug him tight enough to crack his ribs if they were human'.  
Mostly, though, he wanted to deck him.

“I’m not dead, I’m…”

“Actually, you’re dancing on the fair line between, just like the little ol’ me. And for some reason, I can’t come back until you will move your ass, so…” he made a dramatic pause, opening his arms as to show himself off, “…here I am, to give you a helpful ass-kick in the right direction.”

Sam stood up suddenly, pacing on his side of the room and constantly glancing at the archangel on another side of it, barely a few feet away. He wasn’t sure if he was just keeping his gaze through the conversation or if he needed to constantly check if the bastard hadn’t disappeared on him, but still, he barely could cast his eyes away.

“Let me get this straight: I’m pretty much dead and so are you. This? This all I’ve been doing for the past _months_ is nothing more than a really long dream? And you, out of the goodness of your heart and care for your own good, obviously, decided to come out in the open and tell me, not only how to get out of this sticky situation, but also that I actually am in it?”

Gabriel looked up, humming as if he was counting in his mind if Sam hadn’t miss anything. Finally he looked back at the hunter with a bright smile.

“Yeah, Sammy boy. Pretty much. Now that you know what we are up to, would you…”

“No!” Sam exclaimed loudly and the archangel just sighed. “If there’d be one thing that’d made me trust you even less than I should, it’d be you coming out in the open and asking me honestly what do you want.”

The sigh this time could lift a mountain.

“I don’t tell him the truth, he’s pissed, I tell him the truth, he’s pissed,” Gabriel murmured under his breath. “There’s just no winning with you, is there Sam?”

“You _never_ tell the truth! You’re like that creature that can’t say it never speaks the truth, because that would be its first time doing it!”

Gabriel snorted.

“I want to know what the fuck do you think you’re actually doing here!”

The archangel shrugged and opened his arms in a 'giving up' gesture. Sam belatedly noticed that the bag of M&M’s had disappeared somehow along the conversation, when Gabriel needed both of his hands for wilder gesticulation. The words ‘drama queen’ came to mind, but Sam decided to hold back with throwing insults for just a little bit longer.

“Listen, Sam,” Gabriel started in a sort of calm voice that Sam remembered from when he begged the Trickster to bring Dean back. It didn’t much good for his mood. “I know I usually don’t come out and say things and I have my reasons. Call me a naïve optimist, but I believe you little hairless monkeys are actually capable of learning! Yes, I usually go for a more…”

“Manipulative?”

“… _subtle_ approach, but it didn’t work this time and I need you to do what I ask from you to save both of our asses, so I thought: hey! Since when did subtle works on this pig-headed moron? And so I came in person. And you may act all high almighty and keep on playing Buffy the vampire slayer, but it’s still all happening in your thick, lesson proof head.”

Sam stared at him, his eyes widening in fear. It couldn’t be true. It was another of Lucifer’s tricks, but if it was, then it would mean Lucifer walked free and therefore whatever this was that was happening around him now, wasn’t reality. And if it was truly Gabriel… Sam blinked at the sudden tears in his eyes. He was trapped, he only couldn’t figure out where. In the trap he jumped in as Lucifer? Or in his head with Lucifer at control sticks? Perhaps he dreamed of saving people from ghost and ghouls, and vampires, while the true world burned to the core?  
He sat heavily on the bed and heard Gabriel moving slightly closer, before reaching under his chin to lift his head up and meet his gaze.

“I’m trapped somewhere between dead and alive. You’re trapped in the hole with Michael and Lucifer… What you’ve been dreaming about them? Is true. Those were the times, when you were sort of awake.”

Sam gulped.

“I tried to tell you, remind you that you’re human, because Sam? If we go back, you’re gonna go back as human, you understand? Vulnerable, weak and powerless like you used to be before, like you would actually be without this demon blood crap, you understand? And if we want to get there, we need to make the ritual you were trying to make for those ghosts… It wasn’t the one you were looking for, I sort of made you find the one we need, but apparently it doesn’t work if you’re not aware of what the hell are you doing. Stupid consent-greedy magic rules.”

The grumbling got a snort of laughter from Sam. There was something ironic in the Trickster having to be straightforward to actually save his life. He’d say just desserts if he wasn’t feeling to shaken to risk a smack from the archangel.

 **|\||\||\|**

The incantations and rituals are never simple. When Sam was fourteen and right in the middle of his obsession with becoming a writer (thanks to the praise from one of his teachers on his werewolf story), he wanted to write a story about a poor guy who accidentally completes some sort of magical ritual and gets himself into all sorts of trouble. In the end he didn’t, because his research for a simple ritual with potentially funny consequences was fruitless and Sam refused to just make it up. The fact that everyone who ever read what he wrote thought he was writing fantasy fiction didn’t yet mean he was going to do just that.

It turned out that even the ritual Sam earlier attempted with all the drawings, blood-painting, candles, sulfur and animal parts put on the right parts of the right sigils, was not yet complete. It was just that Gabriel hoped to finish the rest without Sam noticing.

“I can understand the incantation, because you could make me not hear it or whatever, but how the hell were you planning on putting on me the symbols painted with your blood without me noticing?” Sam teased while drawing the symbols for the second time, now on the floor of his room in the house he was squatting in. Or the place his imagination created as his room in the house he was squatting in. Whatever.

“They don’t have to be painted on _your_ skin. Just on some skin that happens to be on you. I was thinking of magically snapping on you a leather collar with them,” Gabriel smirked and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Because Gods know you’re totally resistant to subtle flirting as well.”

Sam choked on the air and the archangel chuckled mischievously.

“You know what, Sam? You were absolutely right, this straightforward thing? Works like magic.”

“I-I…” Sam started, but failed to find words to continue.

The archangel winked at him, looking way too pleased for the hunter’s liking.

“Get your shirt off, hot stuff. Now that I have the opportunity, I’m gonna mark you properly.”

Sam opened his eyes to snap something at his companion or at least blatantly refuse, but when he looked at the archangel’s face he was not only met with wanting an expectant look, but mostly with a challenging one. And Sam’s years weren’t even counted in double digits before he learned that doing something because he was double dared into do it, was a really fucking stupid idea. It took him even less to learn that knowing he shouldn’t be doing something and actually not doing it were two, very different things.  
He quickly took off his unbuttoned shirt and then in one move slid over his head the T-shirt underneath it. He raised his eyebrow challengingly right back at Gabriel, who just stared at the chiseled chest before him for a few seconds. He licked his lips as a muscle on Sam’s chest jumped and the hunter could feel a blush crawling over his neck.  
The mood suddenly switched when a knife suddenly appeared in Gabriel’s hand and with one swift move he cut his arm open, digging his fingers into the wound and getting ready to finger-paint on Sam’s broad chest. Sam winced with the first touch and the archangel raised his eyebrow at him, belittling his disgust.

“Who like who, Sammy, but you shouldn’t really be put off by a little of blood entering the scene.”

Sam glared down at him and was surprised with the force of the answering glare Gabriel shot him before going back to his work.

“Jealous much?” he teased and the archangel grumbled.

“That some stupid demon bitch was a better manipulator than I hoped to be? Sure. Call me a racist, but I hate being outdone by black-eyed juniors.” He moved his hands over Sam’s skin with a subtle pressure that made Sam shiver, goosebumps appearing in the trail of Gabriel’s touch. “After all, I am the Trickster.”

“You’re an archangel, _Gabriel_ ,” Sam reminded him mockingly, steering the conversation away from him and Ruby, and the whole mess that stupid union had caused. He wondered if bonding with Gabriel wouldn't cause something much, much worse, but then his imagination couldn’t come up with the answer of what that could be exactly, so he let it go, before getting to the argument that he trusted the archangel.

“You’re a man, hunter, Winchester, Taurus and dozens of others, why the hell I can’t keep a few labels?”

Sam snorted at that and the petulant tone of voice it was said in. He obediently turned around as Gabriel started working on his back. He wondered if it was weird that he didn’t feel the least bit exposed with his back turned so trustworthily.

“The spell sort of ties us together to toss us out in the same reality. It’s not very strong and doesn’t last long, but it may be why you suddenly realize you don’t mind so much that you think I’m damn sexy.”

“I don’t think you’re damn sexy.”

With his dry hand, Gabriel patted him on the arm, mocking the calming gesture.

“Of course you don’t, baby. Of course you don’t.”

Sam smiled, still safely facing away from his companion. He'd really missed that bastard.

 **|\||\||\|**

Sam once again opened his eyes to see Lucifer and it felt so much different now that he knew it was reality. Michael was still avoiding them all, though Sam couldn’t help but notice he always tended to walk away from them when Sam appeared. Perhaps then he actually more often than not got engaged in one of Lucifer’s conversations.  
Adam’s body still lay unmoving and Sam made himself look at it. He wondered how the hell Adam could actually stay dead in the Satan’s trap, deep in Hell. It couldn’t actually be his body after all. He wondered if that meant his soul was dead or if it just looked dead, shut down after being overwhelmed with whatever had happened. It wasn't as if he actually had anyone with him who would answer his questions clearly: Gabriel by a long shot wasn’t the only angel who had problems with plain speaking.

“What are you trying to do, Sam?” Lucifer asked, his voice low and curious, but tight with unspoken warning.

Sam looked at the candles that appeared around him and the smallest circle of the symbol he drawn on the floor around him. The hunter smiled, seeing that it was in fact working just as Gabriel said it would.

“I’m finally waking up,” he said calmly and saw the flash of the anger in Lucifer’s eyes a moment before the devil tried to charge between the candles and break the ritual.

The spell dragged Sam out barely a fracture of a second before the fallen angel managed to ruin it. Somehow Sam had no problems with seeing Gabriel’s _subtle_ humor in it. His laugh though came out as a cough as he gasped for air, feeling as if he'd nearly drowned. He fought to sit up, suddenly panicked, and felt a soft hand on his chest.

“Easy there, kiddo, easy.” Gabriel slowly eased him back on the bed. “You just went through detox, resurrection and some serious angelic magic spell, three for one. Great deal, really, but you may feel a little lightheaded.”

Sam would snort if the mere idea hadn’t hurt his throat so much. He licked his lips and tried to swallow some saliva to ease the dryness in his throat, but it seemed as if his mouth had become a Sahara dessert as well. He vaguely heard a snap and a moment later, Gabriel held his head up and brought a glass full of water to his lips. He drunk greedily, feeling better with every gulp. His muscles were sore as if he'd overdone himself the previous day or something, but after the easing off the dryness in his mouth he felt much better than he expected after coming back from the dead.

“It gets easier with practice,” Gabriel mocked and Sam glared at him, clearly showing that he didn’t quite approve of the whole mind reading business. The archangel barely smirked.

“Where are we, anyway?” Sam asked, distracted by the unfamiliar decor of the room.

Well, as unfamiliar as any motel at this point was to him. Somehow after seeing so many of them, they all seemed to roll into one with the very few that either contained a very hideous wallpaper or a big-enough-for-Sam-bathtub, that stood out in his memory.  
This one had white wallpapers with brightly red flower design that look nice at first and made your eyes swim after more than ten seconds of watching it. Sam looked at Gabriel instead.

“Well, shockingly enough, Dorothy, we’re back in Kansas.”

Sam gave him a tired smile.

“Oh, well, Auntie Em, there’s no place like home.”

Gabriel snorted, obviously pleased with Sam finally playing along with his jokes. He hopped off the end of the bed, where he'd perched, waiting for Sam to wake, and pivoted to face the hunter with a smirk, already raising his hand for the theatrical snap.

“Well, Sam-bo, as fun as it was _not_ to have all those heart-to-hearts with you, there are sure betterplaces for an archangel to be than Lawrence,” his eyes shone with the usual mischievous glint. “I think Vegas must miss me already.”

“Don’t,” called Sam urgently and only got questioning, raised eyebrows in response. “Don’t go. Please. I’m tired, but I can’t just fall asleep… It's- I dunno, it feels maybe safer with you, I guess...?"

“Kid, I’m not sure you got the memo, but the Apocalypse is over. The big bad wolf is not waiting for you to let your guard down, you know? You’re a big boy, you will be just fine.”

“Please, Gabriel. Stay,” asked Sam again, feeling foolish and embarrassed, but also scared and overwhelmed. Still shocked that he trapped for so long and yet managed once again to escape. He was waiting for another shoe to drop and for Lucifer to find some way to follow him back on Earth or at least catch him in his dreams once again.

The archangel sighed loudly and glanced at the ceiling as if asking what exactly he did to deserve this kind of punishment. Then he sort of smirked, obviously thinking of dozens of things he did to deserve things much, much worse. Sam couldn’t help, but let out a soft chuckle at him even as his eyes were fighting a losing battle to stay open.  
He hadn’t even noticed when his eyelids did slid closed, but he smiled pleased, when he felt a hand petting his head. He moved closer, his back pressed to the archangel, who slid lower, spooning Sam and sliding his fingers through the hunter’s long strands of hair.

“You know,” he murmured quietly and Sam only grunted in response. “If you will get these even longer my 'pulling your pigtails' may become quite literal. I may not be able to resist the temptation.”

The deep chuckles that Sam felt vibrating against his back only intensified after Sam elbowed him sharply. When they quieted into a comfortable, warm silence, Sam finally slid into the sleep, with a small smile curling his lips and a soft body pressed securely against his back.

 **|\||\||\|**

There were certain things done between people that were signs of their relationship; The depth of their feelings, the levels of trust and intimacy. Sometimes the barriers were blurred, like when Dean stood protectively close to Sam and people assumed he was a very possessive boyfriend. Or when Sam woke up in bed with Ruby watching over him and it took a moment for it to sink in that it was not what it looked like. She was just guarding the main piece in her grand plan, as Sam learned later.

One of those telling this, Sam thought, was waking up pressed to somebody and instantly recognizing who it was, not because of remembering what happened before falling asleep, but because you smelled, felt and sensed this person so thoroughly as if your body was perfectly tuned just for this purpose and there was no mistaking, because it simply couldn’t be anybody else.

Sam hummed contently into Gabriel’s neck, pressing his face even closer, his thoughts lazily swimming around in his head as he was slowly waking up in the warmth cocoon of sheets and archangel’s arms. He pressed a kiss to the skin underneath his lips, enjoying its warmth and softness. It surprised him to wake up in this position, but he was far from complaining.  
He expected Gabriel to be long gone or at least not touching him anymore. Sam never quite got used to sleeping with anyone in his be, and he’d more likely expect from himself to roll away from the company during sleep, and _not_ almost half crawl over the archangel, wrapping his arm around him and tangling their legs together. He wondered if it wasn’t somehow all Gabriel’s doing.  
Slowly, almost lazily as all his muscles were still overly relaxed from the sleep, Sam slid his fingers over Gabriel’s jaw and then held it more firmly, moving his head away to expose his neck. The archangel hummed contently, feeling Sam’s wet, hot kisses. Sam gave in to the need to taste more and licked the neck before him in one long movement almost from the base of it up to the ear. He echoed Gabriel’s moan, tasting the archangel on his tongue. It was not a particularly strong taste; the skin and the warmth with no touch of sweat. Pure and inhuman. Sam growled deep in his throat, biting on the skin right under Gabriel’s ear and snapping his hips forward to press his hardening cock against the side of the archangel’s thigh. His muscles tightened, the relaxed state of the slumber evaporating, consumed by the sudden fire of unsatisfied wanting.

“Up from the nap, I see,” Gabriel mocked lightly and Sam truly enjoyed how breathless it sounded. He made the archangel forget he didn’t need to breathe.

The archangel in question obviously did not forget that he could read minds, because he snorted as soon as Sam managed to finish his thought and opened mouth to say something, but the hunter didn’t give him a chance. He kissed him hard and deep, with none of the hesitation or dulled warmth that the previous kisses could suggest. Sam kissed as if he couldn’t even imagine he’d be rejected, as if he had all right to just do it, panting and yet swirling his tongue against the archangel’s, because Gabriel was _his_.  
Sam wasn’t sure if the broken moan that fell from Gabriel’s lips to his was the answer to the kiss or to his thought, but before he manage to even consider breaking the kiss to ask him, he was suddenly turned around with inhuman strength. His legs, previously somehow wrapped around Gabriel, opened for him as he rolled in between them, fitting himself effortlessly and pressing their groins together. Sam moaned, closing his eyes in pleasure and trying to bring the archangel even closer with his legs wrapping around him and his hands sliding into his hair.  
They were moving against each other with small pushes, sending waves of pleasure through their bodies, their breaths hitching. Sam pried his eyes open to see the archangel’s face, tense with pleasure, eyes closed and mouth close to Sam’s, where they were inches from a kiss, just panting huffs of hot breath. Sam brought Gabriel head just a little bit closer and kissed him again, tasting the warmth and sweetness.  
Their moves became harder as their cocks sought more friction, painfully hard against the denim of their clothes, Gabriel’s jeans rough against the cotton of Sam’s boxers, making the Winchester moan in something in the blissful space between pleasure and pain. Gabriel raised his face to meet his gaze and smirked a second before their clothes disappeared, making Sam growl and hold him so much tighter.  
Their naked bodies moved back into the rhythm, quickening as they raced towards the edge of the orgasm. Sam’s hips snapping up to meet Gabriel’s thrusts as the hunter’s legs tightened, bringing them even closer, theirs cocks sliding in the tight space between their tightly pressed stomachs, slick with sweat and pre-come. Gabriel’s smaller posture making it harder for him to kiss Sam’s mouth comfortably and he slid lower, licking and nipping at Sam’s nipples and enjoying the change so much more with Sam’s moans at every touch of his hot tongue. He could feel the hunter’s muscles tightening as he arched into another thrust and moaned brokenly, coming with bursts of semen alongside Gabriel’s cock and making his thrust so much slicker. The archangel’s whimpers were muffled against Sam’s chest, where he pressed his face as he fell off the edge of his own orgasm.

He panted against Sam’s skin, lying boneless until Sam finally unhooked his legs from around him with a low grumble. Gabriel smiled tiredly and rolled off of Sam, lying next to him, pressed flush against his side, giving him a quick kiss at the arm that made Sam hum contently; still too worn out for words. Or so Gabriel hoped until he heard Sam licking his lips and clearing his throat above him a second before he spoke quietly, his words almost slurring a little bit as if he was on the edge of the sleep once again.

“I’m glad this ritual needed you and you know… speaking plainly and working together. Your lessons never work on me… This… this was good… I’m glad.”

Gabriel snorted and raised his head slightly to confirm that yes, Sam had started this conversation with his eyes closed and were already slowly sliding into sleep; the power they needed to use to break out from Satan’s trap, obviously leaving him drained. And sexing up an archangel apparently wasn’t a great way to recharge a human’s strength either.

“It was awesome, kiddo. And I’m glad, you’re glad,” he mocked.

“Mhm,” Sam murmured and failed to follow this with any longer sentence as his breathing evened out and he fell back asleep.

The archangel lying next to him hummed contently, cleaning them both and the bed from the lingering wetness of semen and sweat, before snuggling firmly against the side of his human. His thoughts run around lazily around what Sam just said. He was glad too that it was the way the ritual worked, even though it was somehow disturbing as well, because he knew it was _not_ how it was supposed to work. Fair enough, usually it was used to drag out the person trapped in his own mind and the addition of Gabriel’s sigils was only a way to make sure he got dragged out along the way. Anything extra Gabriel added to the ritual made it stronger and made it work for two. It didn’t however explained the ritual’s need for Sam to know what he was doing, nor the burning question of how Gabriel even appeared in there in the first place.  
He tapped his fingers lightly on Sam’s chest, irritated with the only answer that offered itself to him. After thousands of years spent as a pagan god, disapproving of Heaven and everything that went on there, Gabriel refused to suddenly go Michael and drop to his knees in religious ecstasy. He let out an irritated breath. One or two really good gifts still weren’t enough to pay up for all the missed birthdays. Not that archangels exactly had birthdays, obviously, but it was a weirdly working metaphor and… Gabriel sighed again, this time sounding more defeated, as if giving up and accepting the messed up situation.

“Thanks, Dad,” he whispered with a feeling and closed his eyes to loose himself in Sam’s dreams and make sure the hunter wouldn't be dragged back into nightmares.

 **|\||\||\|**


End file.
